03 February 2009

Welcome to the Family

We are quite the under-achievers when it comes to watching sports. It's not that we don't appreciate sports or enjoy them ourselves. We just tend to forget about them, too busy with our nerdling-activities.

We did, however, all manage to pile onto the couch for the super-bowl this past Sunday. It took a few minutes of establishing who the "red guys" and the "men with the yellow pants" were. The red cardinal on Arizona's helmet was misidentified as St. Louis (baseball, I think) and the Pittsburgh 'Steelers' were called the 'Raiders' for about 10 minutes.

I give you this background information to set the stage for our surprise when Lucette calmly announces: "There's my husband." She was referring to one of the players. One that we had obviously never noticed, discussed, or appreciated before.

Now, I understand that men like the sport for its various attributes and women often like it for the players' various attributes. So I'm thinking little five year-old Lucette has spotted a strapping young quarterback with sandy blonde hair and a toothsome, boyish grin to fancy for the afternoon.

In actuality it was this man. Strapping, certainly, boyish ... uh, maybe, but that's about where her dream man and my imagination stopped cooperating. "Really?" we asked her. How come he's your husband? Her matter of fact response: "He's handsome."

Upon further probing, we discovered she was specifically taken with his "fluffy hair" which had the added benefit of easily identifying him even with his helmet on. His name is Troy Polamalu, Lucette pronouncing it as a sultry "Pala-Olive."

I suppose as long as he is good to his mother ...


  1. LOL! So funny and well told. A friend of mine told me that Troy Polamalu played football in Winston, OR which is just outside of Roseburg. Your daughter must have somehow known he was a local.

  2. HA! That's great, I love it, she's my kind of girl!

  3. I don't care if his arms are thicker than my neck, he would still have to pass the Daddy test to court my daughter (in twenty years that is).